


Cheap Spirits

by paisparker



Series: The Endeavors of the Iron Family [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst, Autistic Peter Parker, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley has an Oedipal complex, Homophobia, Hurt Harley Keener, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Natasha dies, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Sort Of, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony dies, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paisparker/pseuds/paisparker
Summary: Amidst the dusting of half the population, Harley Keener finds himself struggling to cope with the loss of his sister, his newfound drug addiction, and the negligence of his mother. Thankfully, Tony Stark is there to pick up his crumbling pieces, as Harley helps do the same in return.
Relationships: Harley Keener & E.J. (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener & Pepper Potts, Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Benjamin Deeds, Harley Keener/Harry Osborn, Harley Keener/Original Male Character(s), Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: The Endeavors of the Iron Family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715365
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it clear that this story includes alcohol and drug abuse of underage characters, as well as references to deaths, suicides, violence, homophobia, and more possibly triggering situations. Please do not read if any of these things are uncomfortable for you. It is never my intention to bring harm to readers. 
> 
> The title of this is from “Cheap Spirits” by KNGDAVD.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suggested listening:
> 
> -“Forbidden Fruit” by Hallway Swimmers  
> -“Dancer in The Dark” by Scratch Massive

The life of Harley Keener could be described with five paramount moments: the day his father left to get scratchers and never came back, when Tony Stark broke into his shed and graced him with the feeling of fatherly aegis which he had been previously lacking, when the snap (or was it blip? He wasn’t too sure) occurred, leaving his newfound addiction to peak, when Tony died, and when he took on the mantle of Iron Lad.

Of course—as he was only twenty years of age, there were plenty more historic moments to come in his future, however to tell the story of what became of him in those eighteen years, it’s important to start his story from the ripe, pubescent age of thirteen, a decent amount of time after Tony’s departure from Rosehill.

Since rescuing E.J. when the water tower had collapsed, the slightly older boy had provided him with a false comfort of friendship. To him though, it had been better than having nothing at all. With his mother at the diner (read: bar) perennially, and his sister Abbie being only eleven—almost twelve, years old, his life had been quite lonesome. Alongside this, E.J. took immense interest in the gifts that the younger had received from “Iron Man, the legit superhero” as he proclaimed; it kept him around for long enough, but eventually such trinkets became old news to the latter, and he hackled Harley to follow after him like a dog in other, more shrewd ways.

It started with a cigarette, snatched from the boy’s Pa. A simple looking thing, tobacco, nicotine, and other deadly chemicals the boy had been warned about, wrapped in white flax paper. He leveled out the consequences in his head when E.J. and his group of friends had approached him with the snatched cancer stick. Smoke it—just that one time, or be left alone once more (like his father, his mother, and in time, probably Tony as well). With clammy hands he had brought the already-lit cigarette between his fingers like he’d seen adults around town do, and pressed it to his lips. With a suck of air in, he immediately began coughing, spluttering the rancid, stale odor and smoke out from his throat. E.J. stood by laughing a boisterous laugh with Max, John, and Bobby. Harley handed them the orange and white stick, and forced a laugh. But, before it reached their grasp, it fell into the puddle beside them. E.J. groaned then, crossing his arms along his chest. 

“You owe me a new one of those.” He demanded. 

Harley’s eyes widened. He didn’t know how to get such a thing! Sure his mother smoked—hell every adult in town carried a pack of them, but they were practically habitual for the woman. She smoked them religiously, and while she didn’t necessarily keep tabs on him or Abbie, she’d for certain notice a missing cigarette. “Wh- how?” The blonde cried out. “My Ma’ll kill me if she finds out I snagged one of hers!” 

E.J. shrugged. “Not my problem kid. You dropped it, you wasted it. Get us a new one by tomorrow.” The raven haired boy leaned in close, pressing a dirt-knuckled finger to his chest, and spoke quietly so the other three boys couldn’t hear him. “Or else I’ll tell everyone about the time I caught you eyeing Billy Paulson in the locker room.” 

Heart bursting, choking, sweltering heat filled Harley. His fingers became numb with fear and vomit inducing embarrassment, at the proclamation of such a threat. He stared back at the threatening figure, and gulped down the rising bile in this throat. 

“Got it?” E.J. asked, as he stood back up to his 5 foot 5 inches in height, which greatly exceeded Harley’s own 4 feet 11 inches (he had yet to hit his growth spurt).

With a shaking, stiff movement, he had nodded to the boy, who then retreated back down the street to their bikes, and rode off. 

In retrospect, he had ended up successfully nagging a cigarette off his Ma. One day as she was leaving the house, she fumbled and dropped her purse, the sticks popping out of their Pall Mall packaging, leaving Harley with ample opportunity to help her collect them—and shove one guiltily up his sleeve.

But, as was stated before, that was only the beginning for Harley Keener. The start of a quick decline into risky behaviors.

In short time, E.J. and his crew had the boy downing beers, whiskeys, and wines, all stolen from their parents’ liquor collections. Cigarettes turned into weed, and by the time the snap happened, everything changed.

Suddenly, he wasn’t scared anymore. Not of the drugs, anyways. He was in class when it happened. The teacher—Mrs. Fitz, went first. Crumbling into dust, and disappearing before people even had the time to panic. 

Their town was small in size, meaning the school held classes of all students from kindergarten to the twelfth grade—sanctioned of course into different parts of the building. Harley raced down the halls of screaming, crying, shell-shocked students. Phones rang in every classroom, unanswered and unpleasant. Breathlessly he made it to room 104, and his eyes searched everywhere.

“Abbie? Abbie‽” He questioned, as he raked through the younger students. “Has- Has anyone seen my sister? Abigail‽” He ran up to the teacher, a young, redheaded woman who sat down clutching some crying students, her lip wobbling in confusion and fear. “Miss? H-Have you seen my sister? Her name is, is Abigail Keener. Short with, blonde blonde curls?” He stuttered.

He received no response, only a distant look from the woman’s brown eyes, as if she had seen a ghost. To be fair enough, she almost had. The souls of tiny children wiped away from existence with barely a trace left behind.

Tears walloped down Harley’s cheeks, and he noticed a petite girl in the corner. Her name was Shirley, and he recognized her as one of Abbie’s friends. “Shirley!” He jogged over. “Do you know where Abbie is? I-I can’t find her, I-I need-“

The young, dark skinned little girl cut him off with one word “Gone.” She whined, looking at him as her frown grew into a sob.

The world spinned that day. Tilted off its axis and came billowing down a hill into uncharted land, a land in which—according to news reports, half the world’s people had peculiarly vanished.

In tears him and his mother watched the broadcasts on television with an empty seat beside them on the mustard yellow couch. “It has been two days since billions of people around the world have disappeared, and with that comes almost no sign of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. Tony Stark, recognizably the Iron Man, is among them, as is New York’s local hero dubbed the Spider-Man. King T’Challa and Princess Shuri—Wakandan natives, have reportedly been dusted, as some are calling this untimely and bizarre situation. Following this, nationwide suicide rates have increased from 1.4% to a drastic 17%. Coming up next we have Doctor Ivan Lessing here with us to talk about th-“ Harley’s mother powered it off.

“I’m going for a drink.” She murmured, and walked out the front door, leaving Harley stranded and reaching out for something, someone, anyone, to hold onto and get closure in the vast expanse of his own emotional turmoil. 

It was twenty days later that they announced Tony’s arrival from space, a figure of pale complexion with skin clinging to starving bone. It was in those twenty days, that E.J. was able to find harder drugs from struggling dealers on the outskirts of town. It was twenty days, that Harley spent doing lines of cocaine with a bloody nose, drinking pints of vodka and beers, and watching the colors blur like abstract art as he inhaled the herbal fumes of weed and as the tabs of ecstasy dissolved beneath his tongue. 

Anything and everything that he could use to take his mind off the chaos of the world around him between those twenty days, he did. Every drug and drink he could get his then 16 year old hands on, he gripped with an iron fist. E.J. didn't force him anymore. Didn’t threaten him, or blackmail him. Everything he did was a choice he made, because he’d rather drink off a headache in the morning and not see straight, than to see and feel the crushing weight of reality which said Tony Stark was dead, and so was his sister.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suggested listening:
> 
> -“Dancer in The Dark” by Scratch Massive  
> -“November” by PatrickReza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: graphic depictions of underage drug and alcohol usage.
> 
> Kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> twitter: harlskeener  
> instagram: vizvids

The neon strobes flashed multi-chromatically around his sweating, sunkissed skin. Smoke from the fog machine swirled and mixed indistinguishably with that which came from the weed being smoked in bongs or rolled into joints

Some could call the party they were at insensitive, some might’ve had some more colorful vocabulary to describe such an event amidst everything else that had been taking place in the world. However, if you asked Harley, to him it was a mere distraction—as was everything else he’d been doing since the day half the world died. To him and almost everybody else cramped together in the house, they wondered, what was so insensitive about denial? It was one of the stages of grief—the first one even, after all. 

Harley brought his classic red cup to his lips, letting the burning feel of his twisted tea run down his throat, as the remnants dripped onto his chin for him to wipe away with a plaid sleeve. 

E.J. had gone down the hall with a girl some ten minutes beforehand, leaving the blonde boy to stand alone and delirious in the swarm of young, piss-drunk and sky-high teenagers. Some of them stood around on knobby knees dancing, some were perched against the walls like sharks searching for bite to eat, and some were crashed onto furniture and floor spaces knocked out and still as though they were artifacts from a museum. 

It was Tuesday. Or maybe Saturday? Time was relevant anyways, and Harley could have cared less about what day it was or wasn’t. The party had been in constant motion since the day it started. School was out because nobody bothered to show up—including whatever amount of teachers had been left, and no police bothered to check on the safety of the party down the street from the station—most officers had been at the bar anyways. The small Tennessee town of Rosehill quickly catapulted from a shithole of nothingness to a raving dump of inebriated citizens half out of their mind and walking a fine line between depression and drug-induced gaiety. 

It had been several days since Harley first stepped foot into the bleeding heart of rave-like music and lusty, broken hearted teenagers (some adults as well, he noticed). How many days exactly? Again, he had not a clue. He took his time taking few hour naps here and there on sofas and empty bedrooms, before he was once again woken up, previous drinks and toxins barely worn off.

Needless to say, the aftermath of the dusting hit everybody that was left like a bag full of hundred pound bricks. Nobody knew where to go from there. Would they be next? Would their loved ones ever come back? These were many of the countless questions that went through people’s minds when they let themselves ponder over the situation.

The current song playing was some Rae Sremmurd remix, which shook the speakers with a vibration that could have put any motor or engine to shame. Unless of course, it belonged to Tony Stark, who Harley had discovered had come from space, alive but hardly kicking. The blonde boy had been too high to register the news entirely when he had heard it. Frankly, he didn’t want to care too much, just in case the man ended up not making it. The last thing the already vulnerable boy needed was yet another void in the deep pit of his heart.

So Harley went on for days continuing the routine of drugs, drink, sleep, repeat, until the party scene got old and his stomach churned in the need for decent food—not random bags of chips and pizza slices from boxes that seemed to restock themselves like clockwork. 

By the time he and E.J. had finally decided to split from the never ending madhouse, it was nightfall. The two boys crashed in Harley’s garage, passing back and forth a joint of weed the younger had taken, that had been abandoned on a beer pong table. Some sandwiches they drunkenly made of pickles and peanut butter layed half eaten and discarded on a table nearby. 

Disturbing their quiet, Harley’s Starkphone 5c rang from his pocket. It was a miracle the thing was still alive—despite only at what seemed to be 8% battery (it could have been 3%, everything was blurry). 

“You gon’ answer that?” E.J. slurred.

With a sigh, the latter reached and grabbed hold of his phone, answering the private number begrudgingly. “Hello?” He asked.

“Harley? Oh my god. Harley! You’re there, you’re- you’re, oh sweet Maria I’m so glad you’re okay, I-I-“

Harley sat up from the garage’s couch with a confused expression smeared across his face. “Tony?” 

The man on the other line let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, kid. It’s me, I uh… I wanted to see if you, if you were there, you know? After,” Tony gulped down his anxiety. “After everything that happened.”

The boy nodded, before realizing he couldn’t be seen. “Yeah, I’m here, unfortunately.” He responded with a humorless chuckle.

“For fucks sake I’m glad you are!” The man yelled. “And, and your mom? Your sister?” He questioned.

Harley stiffened in his seat. “Uh, y-yeah, yeah they’re both here.” A lie, the first of many to come, that he’d tell to the older.

“Oh, good. That’s… Great.” The genuine tone in his voice was clear as day, but it didn’t entirely mask the sad tone Harley picked up on. He knew Pepper was alive, and so was James Rhodes—both had appeared on television soon after the dusting occurred, so who was it that the man had lost? Maybe it was Happy, or perhaps Natasha…

Lost in his thoughts he caught the end of the man speaking. “-o New York?”

“Uh, sorry can you repeat that?” Harley asked, rubbing his temples.

“I asked if, if you wanted to come to New York… You and your sister and mom, if you need a place to stay or uh just you if you need, a place to stay- I already said that uh, fuck… Look um…” Tony sucked in a shaking breathe which had been audible on the Tennessee end of the line. “Remember Peter? The intern I told you about?” 

Shit. Peter. Harley had heard all about this mysterious teen who was two years older than himself and made him more jealous than was healthy. ‘Peter did this today in school’ ‘I have to go, Peter needs me’ ‘Guess what happened with Peter’ and on and on… Of course he knew who Peter was. “Yeah.” He told the mechanic.

“I lost him…”

Oh.

“That’s why I was so scared when I called cause I… God I can’t lose you too kid.” The last part came out as a broken whisper.

But the voice in Harley’s head was louder than a measly whisper, in fact it could be heard over the church bell chiming hour by hour. Don’t get too close, not again. He might leave you, too.

“Well um, I’m here. I’m doing fine, ya didn’t lose me, hah.” He responded stiffly. “What’s that Ma?” He faked over the phone. “Sorry Tony, I have go, the parental unit calls forth. Bye!”

“Wait Harl-“ The boy disconnected the call before the latter could finish speaking, and he buried his head in his hands.

“Pass me the joint.” He grumbled, reaching out to take it from a dazed E.J. who had been trying not to laugh at the other’s misfortune.

Such occurrences continued to prevail for days, which stretched into weeks, and eventually months. Tony would call, Harley would give some bullshit response or not respond at all, and survival would go on. The party house shrunk in size as the time passed but never enough to cease completely. By the time early August had rolled into fruition, the then 5’8” boy had succeeded in making it into the time-warped madhouse weekly. 

In there, he had met a girl with gorgeous dark skin and icy blonde hair with bangs, who called herself Gwen Stacy. The girl made attempts to hit on him, but quickly realized her efforts were hopeless; since then the two found themselves—sometimes three with E.J., swapping smoke and tabs of colored LSD. 

Gwen was a freshman college student from upstate New York as she proclaimed, who had been visiting Mississippi to see her father who had been injured in a work accident and was in critical condition. She never made it to Mississippi, as she had tried to escape from her crashed car on the street, when two empty ones had collided with her own during the dusting. She was stranded, and had the burn marks and scars to prove it. 

She also had a boyfriend. Past tense. Harry Osborn—Harley recognized the name as Tony’s rival company, who had been one of the dusted. The girl found out when she received a call from his father. 

If Harley was being honest, she didn’t fit into their scene, all plaid skirts and places in life for her to go. But then again, he hadn’t been before either. Not really. Rosehill had become a place where broken hearts came to feast like maggots on their own grief and desolation. No more holding the door open for a friend, no more trust, no more life besides the facade that was put up when one stepped into the party bedlam. 

The dusting took away half the people, and with that it took almost everything the small town once stood for.

There were rumors in the rather conservative Rosehill, that the people who disappeared were sinners in the eyes of God. Harley knew that was a lie. Not because he didn’t believe in God (he had no clue what to believe) but because if that were true, he’d have probably been one of the first to go. Not Abbie. Not Mrs. Lakeland, his sweet old neighbor. Him. He wished it had been him.

Some of the town had been making attempts to restart some form of school within the next couple of months, but those were only fantasies.

The bass echoed an unfamiliar song outside the door of the bedroom they were sitting in. Tommy Beckman from their school had been making out on the bed with some brunette girl Harley was too drunk to recognize. Everyone in the green painted walls of the room had bags under their eyes red enough to match the blood stains on the carpet only God knew the origins of. It could’ve been period blood, or a bloody nose, Harley really didn’t want to know. 

“Hand m’ pizza.” Gwen mumbled around a cigarette she was lighting. E.J. reached over into the box they smuggled from the kitchen, handing the older girl a slice of the greasy, cheesy mess. It was a miracle that Belle’s in town hadn’t closed down. Granted it was family run and they were lucky enough to not lose anyone. Harley envied them for that, so each swallow he took of the food went down with a grimace. 

The blonde went to take a swig at the beer in his hand, when he realized it was empty. He groaned, and stood up, having to steady himself for a second as the blood rushed to his head dizzily. “‘M gonna get more beer.” He stated, before walking towards the door. 

“Aye, get me one while you’re at it!” The brunette girl on the bed called after him.

The path to the kitchen was a maze of bodies, all drenched in the acidic smell of alcohol, and the saccharine scent of weed. The music was louder in the rest of the house, and Harley could feel it thumping in his chest. In reality, the travel to the drinks was only about a minute walk, but with the swirl of colors dancing between his eyes and the muffled sound of music and chattering, it seemed like a far off distant island. 

Tables turned into pure geometric shapes, faces morphed into swirled depictions of mandalas and for some reason the light above him made him feel at peace. To his right he felt someone grip onto his shoulder, yelling into his ear something he could barely focus on over the blasting music.

“Kid oh my god… Harley? Harley!” The voice continued. 

‘Hah, sounds kind of like Tony.’ The boy in question thought.

“I’m gonna get you home. Gonna get you home.” 

Home? Harley didn’t like the sound of that. Home was empty. An echo of what once was but no longer existed to bring him any shroud of happiness he once had. Home? Home was a reminder of everything he could escape from at the carouse. 

“No…” He slurred, shoving the hands weakly off of himself. “MmMm.” His head shook childishly.

The hand gripped at his waist, darting, worried eyes scanned his figure in guilt and sadness. “What happened?” The man asked, expecting no sober answer.

Harley swung his arms around the man’s neck and let his head drop downwards, laughing maniacally. There he had been, high off his ass and intoxicated, laughing on the chest of a stranger who had a strange blue glow beneath his shirt.

‘Wait.’ Harley thought. ‘Blue, glow?’ He picked his head up and squinted at the man in front of him. “Tone- Tony?” He questioned.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me kid. I… God I’m so sorry I haven’t been here I was, I was in space and then- fuck. I’m gonna get you home alright?” Tony rambled.

Harley let his arms drop off the man, and frowned. “Don’ wanna…” He mumbled, turning around and making his way presumably to the kitchen yet again.

Tony of course followed after him. “It’s not safe for you to be here, Harley. We have to get you sober.” 

The boy let out a laugh. “Yeah good luck with that.” He giggled. “An’ safe? There’s no- no, safe. Not anymore.” Everything he said was spoken with a crooked smile and a slur. Finally making it to the kitchen, the boy grabbed a beer and started walking back to the bedroom. ‘Girl can get her own beer.’ He thought.

“Woah! No more of that.” Tony demanded, yanking the brown bottle out of the boy’s hands.

“The fuck?” Harley murmured frustratedly, trying to reach back for the bottle, to no avail. He groaned, and turned around to reach for another one, but his slow movements caused him to collide with Tony. ‘How did he get there so fast?’ He wondered. 

The blonde boy huffed a sigh, moving his head to rest in the crook of the man’s neck and shoulder. Total safety might not have existed, but dammit if the familiarity of Tony didn’t feel like the most protected place he could be. 

He started to cry. Tears flowed out of his bloodshot eyes, and all that left his mouth was giggles. He was a mess for all to see. An unwanted game of show and tell and his emotions were the object of display. He didn’t like that. He wanted a drink, a smoke, anything to get more buzzed.

“Hey, h-hey it’s… It’s gonna be alright bambino. I promise. We’ll fix this.” Tony said, tears coming into his own eyes at the sight of the broken child.

Harley, still tucked into the man’s warmth, mumbled a “how?”

Tony lifted the boys head off, and placed it between both his calloused hands. “I’m the mechanic, remember?”

The boy let out a humorless laugh then, his mood changing again like a light switch. “I’m not a damn robot like you.” He grumbled. Heaving himself away from the man, Harley abandoned hope of another beer and trekked on towards the bedroom with Tony hot on his trail.

Somehow the way back was easier than the seemingly impossible travel it took him to get to the kitchen. 

“Harley! We both know I’m not a robot, I’m smarter than one. Alright that was bad timing but still. Hey! I’m talking to you!” The ‘mechanic’ said, following after the peeved boy who walked and ignored him as if he was on a mission.

Harley didn’t bother to try and close the door on his way in, knowing the man would just open it right back up. 

“Did you get my beer?” The girl asked him, rubbing her eyes.

“No.” He responded, making her groan and go back to kissing Tommy.

Tony looked around the small room at all the teenagers in mix matched outfits of leather, plaid, neon colors and smeared makeup. “The hell is this? Did Paramore have a reunion in Tennessee?” 

“Paramore is from Tennessee.” Tommy retorted, causing the other teens to look at him in confusion as to how he—country blasting fuckboy of all people, knew such information.

Harley walked over to E.J. and kneeled down to where he was making some lines of coke. 

“Hey, what is that? What is that?” Tony asked rhetorically. Of course he had known what it was, but he had at the least hoped that the boy wasn’t getting into something that dangerous. He marched over and went to grip hold of Harley, who had successfully gotten through half of one of the lines before he was yanked up. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What if your mother- no, what if your sister saw you like this?”

Harley scoffed and shoved the man off of him. “Well she’s not here is she‽” He yelled, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

Tony was silent for a moment. “You said-“

“Yeah well I lied!” The boy yelled again.

“And- and your mother?” He asked.

“Even if she’s here it’s not like she’s ever really _here._ ” Harley stated, grabbing a beer out of Gwen’s hands who pouted innocently. “Phew!” He let out. “Now I’m feelin it.” With another untimely laugh, the boy knocked into Tony’s shoulder and headed out the bedroom door, walking into the crowd of dancing people in the strobe.

At that, Tony knew there was almost no other way to get the kid out of the ‘party’ other than if he dragged him out by his ear. Almost.

Squirming through the group of teens, the man tried to make his way to Harley. “Hey! Hands off the goods.” He said, sliding past someone who’s waving arms dragged across his hair. 

Said boy had his head thrown back letting two people—a boy and girl respectively, squeeze behind and in front of him, all three of them swerving their hips sensually in a way that made Tony want to look away. He could only hope that the kid wasn’t walking around with some STI at that point. 

“Harley! Kid, come on!” He yelled over the speakers. 

“No!” The teen shouted back, turning to face the elder. “You don’t get it, do you‽” Harley asked. “Abbie is gone, this whole place has gone to shit… I don- I don’t even, even see why you’re mad! You used to do exactly the same!” 

“Yeah but I never wanted you to be like me! I wanted you to be better! I _want_ you to be better!” 

“What you want me to be liked by everyone‽ Own a billion dollar company‽ Huh‽” He asked sarcastically. “Wan’ me to fly around savin’ th- world while everyone puts me on a fuckin’ pedestal‽ Oh look at me! I’m Tony Stark! I get whatever the fuck I want whenever the fuck I want it! I don’t even care, that poor Harley Keener started diving off the deep end long before everybody that fuckin’ mattered fucking died!”

Tony was enraged. He came all the way to Tennessee to see this kid to be told he didn’t _care_? “Why the hell do you think I flew out here in my suit the moment I woke up from the medbay? Of course I care kid! I’ve always fucking cared about you!”

Face to face, Harley looked at the man with wet eyes and flushed cheeks. “Then prove it.”


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suggested listening:
> 
> “show & tell nin9 remix” by melanie martinez  
> “november” by patrickreza  
> “little bastards” by palaye royale  
> “dancer in the dark” by scratchmassive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT***
> 
> this is long in coming, as I delayed the publication of chapter 3 due to the importance of the BLM movement. I felt it was inappropriate to be posting during this very dire situation, and so in turn for the lack of content, I hope you all enjoy this chapter which is 3x as long as my usual. some of it is repetitive from the last as I rewrote parts in tony’s point of view but other than that it’s all new.
> 
> with that being said, I have some warnings specific to this chapter:  
> it is tagged in this that Harley has a slight oedipal complex. this will appear in this chapter with roots of high levels of intoxication and high. I will put an asterisk beforehand and afterwards (although most of this story is pretty heavy) so you know where the minor occurrence is. this is NOT starker, this is NOT keenstark, I will NEVER write either of those. this one event is for the purpose of showing just how much help harley needs in his life situation.
> 
> that is all! I hope you enjoy! comments and kudos are always appreciated~
> 
> [not edited]

When Tony had arrived in Rosehill for the first time in over a year, he had expected to be greeted with anger. The people of New York had proven in great measures just how much they blamed him and the other Avengers for the loss of their loved ones. What he didn’t expect to see in the town however, was mass desolation. The streets of which he recalled having at least a handful of people strolling down them, were eerily silent.

“Fri, detect the heat signature of people.” He told his AI, praying to the gods that what had happened didn’t erase the entire town. He needed to make sure that at the very least Harley was there. He needed to know he was okay—regardless of the fact that the two had spoken on the phone just briefly. He needed to see him, in flesh and blood.

“I have detected people in many of the buildings here, you’ll find that most people are currently in the one directly to your left.” Friday responded with her Irish lilt.

His eyes shifted towards the left, and there read “Walmer’s Bar”.

Tony sighed. ‘Of course’ he thought, and headed inside.

The glass door opened with a short squeak, that was loud enough to disrupt the internal quiet. Those who turned to look at him, did so with stoic expressions, not even a trace of care as to who he was or the pain that had affected them. But he took that as reason enough to acknowledge that they were hurting. He himself had hid his fear, his sadness, and all other negative emotions countless times behind false smiles and expressionless glares, with his own bottles of alcohol to accompany it—expensive or not, as long as he could get his hands on it and feel less, then he was satisfied.

Surveying the room, Tony spotted a woman, petite with blonde hair and arms folded in on herself, and a single bottle of Heineken sitting on the table in front of her with a half eaten basket of fries. She seemed timid enough, not like the spur-wearing men who draped themselves over the bar like wolves waiting for prey.

Of course looks could be deceiving, but taking his chances, the universally proclaimed hero started walking towards the lady.

“This seat taken?” He asked, already pulling it out to sit in.

She looked up at him, eyes wide like a tarsier before her eyes brows furrowed. Not in indignancy, but in what seemed to be a mixture of shock and confusion.

“Look I… I’m sorry to bother you like this. I’m just looking for someone. Would you happen to know a woman named Macy Keener and where I could find her? Redhead, sort of on the shorter side and-“

“She’s over there.” The woman stated quietly, gearing her thumb in direction towards the bar on his right. 

Feeling guilty about leaving the lonesome lady on her own, Tony gave her a sympathetic—yet tight lipped, grin and headed over to wear he saw the woman sat. He’d seen photos of her before, knew her voice and all, but as far as meeting in person went, this was the first time they had done so. He wished it was under better circumstances.

“Miss Keener?” Tony asked, taking his hat off and holding it to his chest, over his arc reactor. It was a nervous tactic he had picked up ever since Rogers, the man he had called his friend, used his shield—a creation of protection and a symbol of peace, to cut deep into the source of the armored avenger’s source of life.

The mother turned to face who was speaking to her, eyes brown and purple with signs of inconsistent sleep, and face hollowed out greatly in fatigue and underfed depression.

“What’d you want?” She grumbled, clutching at a beer bottle.

“I uh, just wanted to check in. See how you were doing. Also to ask where Harley was?”

Macy scoffed, and took a swig of her drink before speaking. “He’ll probably be where the rest of ‘em are… Walk down the street an’ you’ll hear it before ya see it. Kids just like his father, ‘cept annoyingly attentive when ‘e wants.”

Tony knew that Timothy Keener was a sore subject for the boy, and based on what—albeit little, he had heard of him, there wasn’t an ounce of the man shown in the boy. From his light hair, which contrasted heavily with the Keener father’s dark brown, to his blue green eyes which were almost identical to his mother’s own, Harley Keener was not anything like his dad. Especially when taking into account just how much Harley cared for his family: specifically Abbigail, of which he had plans to ask who was watching her later when he found Harley. He would’ve asked the mother standing before him, but with how long she seemed past sobriety, it wouldn’t surprise him if the woman had not a clue at all where her daughter was. Hell, she only had assumptions of where her son was.

“Miss-“ Tony looked at her with a complex look, before signing. “I, never mind.” And with that he walked towards the door, nodding at the blonde woman he had spoken with.

‘A walk it is then.’ He thought to himself, heading down the street with ears tuned in listening for… Whatever is was he was supposed to be listening for.

After about four short minutes, he could hear the faint echo of what sounded like a bass. Music. Picking up his pace, Tony continued down the street waiting to find the exact location it was coming from. Such feat, led him to a trashed looking building, with broken glass, red cups, empty packs of smokes, and two sleeping—he hoped they were sleeping—teenagers in the yellowed out lawn. 

“Pray to Thor that he’s not in there…” Tony whispered to himself before shucking down his sleeve to open the door. Gods knew what germs had touched the handle.

If he thought the music was loud before, opening the door was a whole different perspective. His eardrums rattled as some shitty rap—or was it trap, song ricocheted from the speakers in the dark and strobe lit building.

He scanned his eyes over the crowd searching for the head of shaggy blonde hair. “Not it… That’s not him either… Where the- I think I’d get arrested for being here.” Tony said. “I think everyone would get arrested for being here.” He corrected, once he saw some teenager snorting what suspiciously looked like oxycodone. Or cocaine. He wasn’t quite sure which was worse.

In the maze of sweaty underaged bodies who seemed to have some sort of suicide mission, the New Yorker wasn’t sure if he’d ever find Harley in the mix of it all, if he was even there.

However, his luck pulled through as he saw the exact teen he was looking for stumble aimlessly to the divider of the kitchen and what functionally would be considered the living space.

‘Man this kid got tall.’ Tony realized, walking briskly to his Rosehill prodegé.

“Harley?” He yelled to the boy, gently grabbing hold of his shoulder. “Kid oh my god…” It wasn’t hard to notice the way Harley’s eyes were blown wide like saucers, pupils nothing but a tiny spec and irises surrounded by pulsing, grotesque red veins. “Harley? Harley!” He pressed.

The kid looked out of it, smiling slightly as if he has just heard a joke.

“I’m gonna get you home. Gonna get you home.” Tony told him, voice on the brink of trembling in fear and sorrow for the broken child.

“No…” He slurred, shoving the man’s hands weakly off of himself. “MmMm.” His head shook in a childish manner.

Tony then moved his hand to settle at the young boy’s waist, darting, worried eyes scanned his figure in guilt and sadness. “What happened?” The man asked, expecting no sober answer.

Harley swung his arms around the man’s neck and let his head drop downwards, laughing maniacally. There he had been, high off his ass and probably intoxicated, laughing on Tony’s chest.

Slowly but surely the boy seemed to recalibrate, staring at the blue glow from his arc reactor, as I’d he was putting the pieces together in his head of what was happening. “Tone- Tony?” The blond boy questioned.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me kid. I… God I’m so sorry I haven’t been here I was, I was in space and then- fuck. I’m gonna get you home alright?” Tony rambled.

Harley let his arms drop off the man, and frowned. “Don’ wanna…” He mumbled, turning around and making his way presumably to the kitchen yet again.

Tony of course followed after him. “It’s not safe for you to be here, Harley. We have to get you sober.” 

The boy let out a snarky, cold laugh. “Yeah good luck with that.” He giggled. “An’ safe? There’s no- no, safe. Not anymore.” Everything he said was spoken with a crooked smile and a slur. Finally making it to the kitchen, the boy grabbed a beer and started walking towards a hall. 

“Woah! No more of that.” Tony demanded, yanking the brown bottle out of the boy’s hands.

“The fuck?” Harley murmured frustratedly, trying to reach back for the bottle, to no avail. He groaned, and turned around to reach for another one, but his slow movements caused him to collide with Tony. 

The blonde boy huffed, and moved his head to rest in the crook of the man’s neck and shoulder. There, with Harley in his arms, Tony had felt the best he had since Peter crumbled to nonexistence in his arms.

Feeling a wet warmth on his shirt, Tony realized that Harley has started to cry. Tears flowed out of his bloodshot eyes, but what left his mouth was the sound of giggling. He was a mes. 

“Hey, h-hey it’s… It’s gonna be alright bambino. I promise. We’ll fix this.” Tony said, tears coming into his own eyes at the sight of the broken child.

Harley, still tucked into the man’s warmth, mumbled a “how?”

Lifting the boy's head off of himself, he placed it between both his calloused hands. “I’m the mechanic, remember?”

The boy let out a humorless laugh then. “I’m not a damn robot like you.” He grumbled. Heaving himself away from the man, Harley trekked on towards the where he had been originally headed before, with Tony hot on his trail.

“Harley! We both know I’m not a robot, I’m smarter than one. Alright that was bad timing but still. Hey! I’m talking to you!” The ‘mechanic’ said, following after the peeved boy who walked and ignored him as if he was on a mission.

Harley didn’t bother to try and close the door on his way in, knowing the man would just open it right back up, which he did.

“Did you get my beer?” A girl, who sat on a disgusting looking bed asked Harley, rubbing at her eyes.

“No.” He responded, making her groan and go back to kissing whoever the boy beside her was.

‘Definitely should not be here.’ The older man cringed. Tony looked around the small room. “The hell is this? Did Paramore have a reunion in Tennessee?” 

“Paramore is from Tennessee.” The mystery bed boy retorted, causing the other teens to look at him in confusion.

Harley walked over to a familiar face—‘is that E.J?—and kneeled down to where he was making lines of coke.

“Hey, what is that? What is that?” Tony asked rhetorically. Of course he had known what it was, but he had at the least hoped that the boy wasn’t getting into something that dangerous. He marched over and went to grip hold of Harley, who had successfully gotten through half of one of the lines before he was yanked up. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What if your mother- no, what if your sister saw you like this?”

Harley scoffed and shoved the man off of him. “Well she’s not here is she‽” He yelled, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

Tony was silent for a moment. “You said-“

“Yeah well I lied!” The boy yelled again.

“And- and your mother?” He asked. He knew he had just seen the woman, but he was asking for confirmation on if the woman really had been as neglectant as she seemed.

“Even if she’s here it’s not like she’s ever really _here._ ” Harley stated, grabbing a beer out of the hands of a girl with snowy white hair, who pouted at him. “Phew!” He let out. “Now I’m feelin it.” With another untimely laugh, the boy knocked into Tony’s shoulder and headed out the bedroom door, walking into the crowd of dancing people.

At that, Tony knew there was almost no other way to get the kid out of the ‘party’ other than if he dragged him out by his ear. Almost.

Squirming through the group of teens, the man tried to make his way to Harley. “Hey! Hands of the goods.” He said, sliding past someone who’s waving arms dragged across his hair. 

Said boy had his head thrown back letting two people—a boy and girl respectively, squeeze behind and in front of him, all three of them swerving their hips sensually in a way that made Tony want to look away. He could only hope that the kid wasn’t walking around with some STI at that point. 

“Harley! Kid, come on!” He yelled over the speakers. 

“No!” The teen shouted back, turning to face the elder. “You don’t get it, do you‽” Harley asked. “Abby is gone, this whole place has gone to shit… I don’t even see why you’re mad! You used to do exactly the same!” 

“Yeah but I never wanted you to be like me! I wanted you to be better! I _want_ you to be better!” 

“What you want me to be liked by everyone‽ Own a billion dollar company‽ Huh‽” He asked sarcastically. “Want me to fly around saving the world while everyone puts me on a fucking pedestal‽ Oh look at me! I’m Tony Stark! I get whatever the fuck I want whenever the fuck I want it! I don’t even care that poor Harley Keener started diving off the deep end long before everybody that mattered fucking died!”

Tony was enraged. He came all the way to Tennessee to see this kid to be told he didn’t _care_? “Why the hell do you think I flew out here in my suit the moment I woke up from the medbay? Of course I care kid! I’ve always fucking cared about you!”

Face to face, Harley looked at the man with wet eyes and flushed cheeks. “Then prove it.”

The blue eyed boy with pupils dilated drastically stared into the worried face of his mentor. The bitter stench of alcohol wafted from his warm breath, mingling with that of every other wasted person’s own breathing and salty, potent smell of sweat and who knew what else.

“Prove it.” Harley demanded, grabbing at Tony’s jacket with clammy hands.

How was one supposed to pay homage in order to prove care, to someone—a child, who was inebriated and traumatized enough to last a lifetime? Maybe if he was able to explain to Harley his intentions of bringing the boy home. To _his_ home, in New York. That is if him and his mother agreed—which he didn’t anticipate any objections from the woman.

Lost in his thoughts, Tony failed to notice the boy snaking his arms around his neck and pulling the both of them back towards where the crowd of people intertwined.

“Kid, why don’t you… Go say goodbye to your, friends, and then we’ll head out. To _my_ home. In the city.”

It was obvious Harley was far too gone to understand the words he was saying. A lopsided grin hung drunkenly on his face, and he stumbled trying to sway to the sound of the music which had changed to something with lyrics about a show and tell. Seemingly childish, but unsettlingly fitting.

Harley reached his nimble finger up over his head, like branches reaching for sunlight but instead of life and warmth, he was grasping loosely onto reckless abandon and any sense of feeling to distract from the numbness. 

“Okay, come on G.I Joe. We’re gonna stop by your mom and then-“

“Shhh! Just… Shut… Shut up.” The blonde silenced him. “‘M sleepy.” He murmured, bringing his hands back down to wrap once again around Tony’s shoulders as he laid his head onto his shoulder.

Tony was at a loss for what to do. If he forcefully brought the kid outside, he was worried of accidentally hurting the kid with any wrong moves—his strength since being under strict medical attention was subpar in comparison to its usual. Alternatively, if he kept insisting the boy to leave with him, that might not make any progress seeing how stubborn and void of logic he was.

The song continued to reverberate through the house and Tony could feel the fumes of the room stinging his nose slightly less, becoming desensitized to the overbearing stench. The kid lifted his head dizzily from Tony’s shoulder, bass pumping through his veins mixing swell with the concoction of drinks and drugs that were strong in his system. 

“You have… Tree eye- no, three, three. One, two, three, four! Six, ten- so many many eyes. Colors.” Harley giggled, poking at the man’s face. 

The philanthropist gripped at the boy’s wrists from where they were touching his face like a baby discovering wrinkle lines.

Harley hummed, staring at Tony and not making any move to take his arms out of the gentle clutch of the man’s own calloused and cold hands.

“Prove it.” He mumbled.

[***]  
In mere seconds, before he even understood what was happening, Harley had firmly planted his chapped and alcohol infused lips onto Tony’s own. Making an estranged sound of disapproval and shock, Tony yanked back from the boy and placed the back of his hand against his mouth, as if to rub off any trace of the latter’s ever being there.  
[***]

In the midst of Tony’s moment of panic, Harley—with a disappointed grimace, slunk backwards into the heat of the crowd’s center, making his way then towards the kitchen. There was a back entrance from the kitchen which led to a porch area, teenagers sidled beside one another sharing bottles of booze or cigarettes away from the sweltering bodies. He hadn’t known why he went out there. In front of his eyes was a hazy, rainbow forest, twisting beyond a dead field of what would have been market crops.

Without a clue of how long the boy had been staring into the vast expanse of ever changing plant faces and beautiful swirls—‘I think this may be from the drugs’ he thought, Tony managed to stumble outside after him, not daring to come too close, as if the very thought of touch scalded his skin.

“Harley… Can you please come with me to New York?” The man asked softly.

Harley stood in silence for a moment, not turning to face the older all the way. “When we leavin’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you go back to the other chapters you may see that I changed the character’s ages to their canonical ages to make things more fluid. 
> 
> twitter: harlskeener  
> tumblr: taboratae


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